The Existential Crisis
by zimquist
Summary: Post-OotP, canonical ships, MWPPL. Harry finds out the past is as strange as a foreign country, and has every child's experience of being semi-traumatized by their parents.
1. The Boy Who Fell Out of the Sky

Title: The Existential Crisis

Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. Not making money off of this.

Feedback: Good, bad, anything would be appreciated.

Summary: Post-OotP. Harry finds out the past is as strange as a foreign country, finally gets every child's experience of being embarrassed by the behavior of their parents, discovers some things are timeless like love and the mark of a dark curse, and some things are subject to the whims of time like his existence.

CHAPTER ONE

Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter were walking towards the greenhouse for their Herbology lesson, when a boy dropped out of the sky and landed on top of Sirius, who crashed into James; creating a tangled pile of three bodies. Remus and Peter pulled the first body off of Sirius.

"Alright, Prongs?" Remus said to the lolling head of untidy black hair.

James moaned, and shook his head, before looking up. Remus frowned, something was off about James, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

"Profsslupin?" James slurred. James shook his head and cleared his throat, and said in a stranger's voice, "What are you doing here?" He gave a surprised stare. "Why do you look so young?"

Meanwhile, Peter was helping Sirius up, who was blinking and rubbing the small of his back. Sirius said, "What was that?"

At that, James whipped his head around, expression full of a pleased disbelief, as if finding out that it was his birthday and Father Christmas really did exist all in one go. "Sirius!" Then his expression fell into bewilderment. "But you're…" He shook his head, and said to himself, "…too young."

Sirius frowned and stared at James. "What happened to you, Prongs?"

The body on the ground groaned, and said, "You fell on me, you great heavy git."

Sirius helped the boy on the ground up, and it was James again, the real James. The boy Remus had mistaken for James stared at the real James, and blanched.

"Er," the boy said, "this wouldn't happen to be a strange new interactive Pensieve that I've fallen into, would it?"

"Who are you?" said James. "And why do you look like me?"

The boy whipped his head around, staring at the four boys in turn. Sirius and James took out their wands and pointed it at the boy. The boy ignored the threat, pulled up a sleeve, and pinched himself. He shook his head, and said to himself, "Not a dream."

A crowd of sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were gathering, murmuring to themselves in shock. Professor Sprout forged through the crowd, shouting, "What is the meaning of this? Why isn't anyone in class?" before she got to the center, and stopped at the tableau. Her face darkened, "Alright. It's not funny. Whoever you are, tampering with Polyjuice Potion—that's serious trouble—"

"It's not Polyjuice," said the boy quickly. "Professor Sprout, you've got to take me to Dumbledore. Please, it's urgent."

"I'll say," said Professor Sprout. She glanced at the insignia on the boy's uniform. "Though I think I should take you to see Professor McGonagall first—she'll have words for a Gryffindor fooling around with such a dangerous potion."

"It's worse than that! Please, I need to see Dumbledore," said the boy, in a pleading tone.

Professor Sprout hesitated, then nodded slowly. She scanned the crowd of students, before catching sight of the gleam of a prefect's badge. "Miss Evans, you're in charge until I get back."

"Yes, Professor," said Lily Evans from the edge of the crowd, before turning round and barking orders.

The boy whipped his head around, and stared at Lily Evans with an intense look, before following Professor Sprout.

00000

"Ah, Mr. Potter, what have you been up to this time?" said Dumbledore as soon as Sprout and the boy came into the office. Then Dumbledore blinked, and gave the boy a sharp look. "You're not Mr. Potter."

"He's not Mr. Potter, but some foolish Gryffindor who used Polyjuice Potion to look like Mr. Potter," said Sprout with a look of disapproval.

The boy shook his head. "I'm not James Potter." He shifted his feet, then blurted out, "Professor, I think I may have traveled back in time. I'm Harry Potter. James Potter was my dad."

Dumbledore said nothing, but took out his monocle and peered at Harry through it. The monocle was charmed to show magical energies. Dumbledore read the vestiges of a powerful temporal spell, the sacrificial love protection in a vaguely familiar magical signature seeped into the boy's skin and pulsing with his every breath, the mark of a dark curse on his brow, and a protection and monitoring spell on him in his own magical signature.

"Very well. Professor Sprout, would you please leave us alone?" said Dumbledore, lowering his monocle.

Sprout gasped. "You believe the boy's preposterous story? A temporal spell is harder to work than even the Polyjuice."

"I do, because it's true," said Dumbledore blandly at Sprout's and Harry's incredulous looks. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter," he said when Sprout left. "Now how did you end up traveling back into the past?"

Harry ducked his head, and looked uneasy. "I was attempting this spell…it's sort of…I know I wasn't supposed to—" He took a deep breath, then said, as if saying it fast would make it sound not as bad, "I was attempting the Interstitial spell."

Dumbledore frowned, and his eyes glinted like blue steel. "You are aware that this spell is highly dangerous and forbidden, and meddles with forces that ought best be left alone?"

Harry nodded, mute with the awareness of his transgression.

"Since time travel was not your objective, what were you trying to do?"

Harry shut his eyes, a pained look coming across his face. "To see if I could bring someone back from the Veil."

"What Veil?"

Harry's mouth moved silently, before he said in a barely audible voice, "The Veil in the Department of Mysteries."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened and became penetrating. Harry felt as if he was being stripped by that blue gaze, and every inch of himself was being measured. An inscrutable look passed through Dumbledore's face, and Harry waited for the verdict. Dumbledore pushed a dish towards him. "Lemon drop?" At Harry's gaping face, he said, "There's no use crying over spilt potion, child. I won't ask you for any more details. Foreknowledge is a dangerous thing."

"Er, Professor. I had two other people helping me. But they're not here." Harry hesitated, as if voicing the thought would make it true. "Is there a way to track them?"

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But I think, if you survived intact, and weren't ripped from existence, then they too have survived and still exist on some level. Since you were ripped from your time, I would speculate that they too, were temporally relocated."

Harry nodded, reassured that Hermione and Ron existed somewhere. They might be in a different time and place, but they were in the same situation. Somehow, that was reassuring.

Dumbledore took a lemon drop, and fell into a meditative silence. He debated turning over the boy to the Unspeakables, but knew that once they got ahold of the boy and subjected him to their examinations, they might never let him go. He thought back to what he saw with the monocle; his own magical signature, colored by great affection. His mind turned different aspects of the situation over, drawing on memory and lore and a sharp mind that was almost put in Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore came to a decision, and turned to Harry.

00000

Before dinner at the Great Hall, Dumbledore stood up from the High table, and said, "I am pleased to announce that we will be joined by Harry Harris. He has been sorted into Gryffindor, and is a sixth year. Please give him a hand in welcome."

The Great Hall filled with the sound of polite applause. Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table, and took the nearest seat to his father and friends.

"Er, hello," he said, stomach squirming as if he'd swallowed a whole pile of doxies. He looked at Sirius, alive and healthy and young. "I want to apologize about falling on you earlier."

Sirius looked at him, before his eyes became vague. He shrugged, and said, "Don't mention it. Madam Pomfrey healed me up in five minutes," before turning away to serve himself some chicken, and talking to Lupin.

Harry sat back, frustrated. How was he going to be able to talk to his parents, Sirius, and Lupin with the Unremarkable Spell Dumbledore placed on him? The spell caused people to think that the bespelled object was unremarkable in every way, and was supposed to prevent Harry from changing the timeline. If people found him unremarkable and average, then he wouldn't affect the timeline. Dumbledore had warned him that even with the spell in place, he was not to do anything to draw attention to himself. The spell was not strong enough to prevent people from noticing if Harry decided to jump on the table and cluck like a chicken, for example.

By the end of dinner, Harry decided to treat his situation as if he was in a very long memory in a Pensieve. He would get to see what his parents, Sirius, and Lupin were like when they were his age. He sent a glare at Wormtail, who continued on eating. He'd have to take care to preserve the timeline.


	2. The Hippogriff NonPrank

CHAPTER TWO

Harry didn't think he'd have to adjust to Hogwarts, but the past transformed the school into a mix of familiarity and strangeness. For one thing, there was a bigger student population, and the corridors were more crowded than he was used to, not to mention how there were two professors to a subject, and he'd accidentally walked into Professor Flitwick's classroom when he was supposed to be in Professor Inchaunt's classroom for charms. He at least still had McGonagall for transfiguration, and he was reassured to see that she looked the same like always, and taught the same lessons.

Harry was fortunate in that he'd left his time on October 31st, and arrived in the past on September 24th, so nearly three-quarters of his schoolwork were pulled from his memory of doing it before. The only classes where he had to work to learn new material was Potions, with Professor Ochem who taught different potions than Snape, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Care of Magical Creatures, taught by Professor Kettleburn, was a repeat of what Hagrid had exposed them to. Today, for instance, Kettleburn had decided that the sixth years were knowledgeable enough to be exposed to hippogriffs. Instead of the many hippogriffs Hagrid had got in his third year, Kettleburn only had three hippogriffs. Harry stared at the creatures, and was reminded of Buckbeak, and the Sirius in his time, and a lump rose in his throat.

"All right, class," said Kettleburn. "Partner up in twos. One looks them in the eye, and mind, back away immediately if they don't bow! While the other partner stands ready to stun them should they get out of hand."

Harry hurried over to Lupin, who was one of the only people he knew in the class. "Want to be partners?"

Lupin turned to him, a vague expression in his eyes. "Sure."

They were one of the first in the queue.

Lupin said, "Right, let me get into posi—"

But before he'd finished the sentence, Harry had bowed, and was stroking the hippogriff's feathers, inhaling the familiar warm, musty scent. The hippogriff made a crooning noise of contentment. Harry hugged the hippogriff, and felt some of his homesickness melt away.

Lupin blinked. "Well, that was easier than I thought."

"All right, now you try," said Harry, not bothering to stop petting the hippogriff.

Lupin bowed. It took longer for the hippogriff to return the bow. Lupin approached, then stopped, and eyed the animal with uncertainty. He looked from the sharp beak to the wicked looking talons, and then to Harry who was scratching the wing joint. Lupin drew closer, and patted the flank, before snatching his hand away.

"They're really not as dangerous as everyone makes them out to be," said Harry. He thought of Malfoy. "They're only vicious when you don't show them proper respect."

"Oh," said Lupin, and looking relieved, he walked closer, and stroked the hippogriff's other side.

The hippogriff crooned, and settled its wings, causing Lupin to step back.

"I think he wants to be ridden. I shouldn't like to be trapped in a paddock all day," said Harry, thinking of Buckbeak, and Sirius regretting his inability to exercise him.

Harry climbed on top of the hippogriff, minding he didn't pull any feathers. He looked down at Lupin, who was staring at him with a shocked face. He held out his hand, and said, "Want to come?"

"Er, I don't think there's enough room. He might not be able to take both of our weights," said Lupin, eyeing the hippogriff with fascination.

"He can take up to three people," said Harry, vaguely surprised at Lupin's reticence. His Lupin, in between his jobs for the Order, exercised Buckbeak.

Lupin gave Harry a skeptical look. "I'll take your word for it. I don't think we're supposed to ride them, though."

"Kettleburn didn't tell us not to. Ha—my old professor let us ride them in my third year," said Harry.

"I suppose if you rode one in your third year, they can't be too bad," said Lupin, grasped his hand, and climbed on behind him.

Once the hippogriff lurched off the ground, Harry felt a fit of nostalgia. His third year, he'd been too scared to properly appreciate the ride, and later on he'd been too worried over Sirius and it was dark. He circled Hogwarts, and landed back at the paddock.

"That was…something," said Lupin.

"You can let go now," said Harry, for the first time noticing his own constricted breathing from Lupin's tight grip around his waist.

"Right," said Lupin, not even twitching.

"What were you thinking?!" shouted Kettleburn, running towards them from across the paddock. "Get off at once, before it—" The hippogriff lurched up in alarm. "_Stupefy!"_

Harry and Lupin tumbled to the ground, off the collapsed animal. Harry was the first to get to his feet. "What did you do that for?"

Kettleburn gave him an astonished look. "What did I—he was about to attack!"

"Only because you rushed up to him," said Harry, getting a new understanding of what Hagrid went through.

Kettleburn looked taken aback, before his face darkened. "You should not have ridden him." His eyes slid from Harry to Lupin. "They're dangerous creatures, if you had been paying attention, you would have known that they're to be treated with the utmost respect, not treated like harmless ponies!"

"I did," said Harry. "He bowed to me."

"That doesn't mean that you can just ride them!" said Kettleburn, ignoring Harry's comment, and glaring at Lupin. "You're lucky you weren't hurt."

"I had thought that if we took the proper precautions, there wouldn't be much harm to it," said Lupin, at nearly the same time Harry said, "You never said we couldn't—"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" shouted Kettleburn. "And detention!" He then turned to Lupin. "You were a prefect last year. You should know better!"

"Yes, Professor," said Lupin, looking resigned.

"Wait, what?" said Harry, indignant at the unfairness. "Look, give me detention, I was the one who had the idea. But there's no need to punish Pr—Lupin, he tried to talk me out of it, he didn't want to go in the first place."

"Report to the groundskeeper at eight tonight," said Kettleburn, turning away.

After class, walking back towards the castle where they had the same Defense class, Harry said, "Look, I'm sorry for getting you into trouble. I didn't know Kettleburn would react that way." He shook his head. "Guess I was too used to my old professor—he'd have been delighted."

Lupin shrugged. "S'alright."

"You really didn't deserve it," said Harry, getting incensed.

"I appreciate how you tried to talk Kettleburn out of it, but trust me when I say that I've lost even more house points, for even flimsier reasons," said Lupin, smiling as if at a private joke. "You'll find that out the more you're around. See you at detention, Harris," said Lupin, and went to take a seat next to Wormtail, with James and Sirius.

0000

Once Remus sat down, James said, "We heard what just happened. Never knew you had it in you."

Before anyone could say anything, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor walked in.

With the war on, anyone who was good at DADA was fighting on the front lines, and the students were left with a pool of injured aurors and random volunteers. No one knew what to expect when walking into class. One day, they were taught by a retired Auror who spent the entire class telling the most blood-curdling stories, the next by a witch who drilled them on protection spells, another by a ministry official who told them what to do if they found the Dark Mark over their house, then by a wizard who had them spend the entire time reading from their textbooks. Today they had a curse breaker from Gringott's who had them all hard at working learning to detect curses.

After class let out, Sirius said to Remus, "That was a pretty prank you pulled off, Moony, and in front of a professor! Wish I'd thought of it myself."

Remus looked at Sirius blankly. "What prank?"

"That's Moony, always the modest one," said James, flanking him between Sirius.

"A hippogriff. Wow," said Peter, darting between James and Sirius. "I'd have been scared out of my mind." He then said, in an eager voice, "What was it like?"

"What are you talking about?" said Remus, confused.

"The ride on the hippogriff," Sirius said. "Tell us."

"Later on," said James, looking at his watch. "Tell us in the Great Hall. We'll be late for classes."

Remus sat in Arithmancy, staring blindly at his parchment, trying to figure out what his friends were talking about, and why people kept passing him congratulatory notes about hippogriffs. There was something about Care of Magical Creatures, and the new boy, Harris…

"So how was it?" said a voice by his ear.

Remus blinked, and looked up to see Gideon Prewett, a Hufflepuff sixth year, leaning on his desk. He looked down to find a half-filled parchment with shoddy Arithmancy notes. "Er, the lecture was one of the more dry ones."

"No," said Prewett, rolling his eyes. "I heard from Eugene about Kettleburn and the hippogriff, while I was in Charms class."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Remus had a case of déjà vu. James and Sirius had asked him something similar.

"Fine. Be that way," said Prewett, and left with a huff.

He got more of the same from Sirius and James in the Great Hall over dinner. By the end, they'd stopped speaking to him, not believing his denials, while Peter kept interrogating him for details all the way to the Common Room, until Remus pointedly got out his books, and told him he needed to study.

Remus finished his Transfiguration homework, and was frowning at his Care of Magical Creatures textbook, feeling like he'd forgotten something, something important.

"Oi, Moony," said James, looking up from the prank he'd been planning with Sirius. "Don't get too lost in your books that you forget your detention."

"I do?" said Remus, jerking his head up. "For what?"

James and Sirius exchanged glances. James said, "For the ride on the hippogriff."

"I told you, I don't know what you're referring to," said Remus, at the end of his patience.

"You really don't remember, do you?" said Sirius, with an uncharacteristic solemnity.

"What?"

"The whole school is talking about it," said Peter. "You and…" he shook his head, as if clearing it, "You rode a hippogriff, and Kettleburn docked you points, and gave you detention."

"Why would I do something I know I'd get caught for?" said Remus, put out. "That's more like something Padfoot would do, maybe even Prongs, here."

Sirius cursed. "Whoever tampered with your memory is going to wish he'd never been born," said Sirius, a dark look on his face, starting to get up, when James placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Worry about that later. Right now, we need to find out when Moony has detention, keep him out of more trouble." James stood up, and surveyed the common room. "Then Padfoot, Wormtail, and I will look in the library, research memory charms, and anything else that would alter someone's behavior."

They scattered.

Peter was the first to find out. "You've got it with Hagrid, at eight."

"Thanks, Wormtail," said Remus. "What day?"

"Er, today," said Peter.

The clock read fifteen minutes past eight. Remus ran all the way from the tower to the grounds.


	3. Ripple Effects

CHAPTER THREE

"I'm going to Pomfrey to see about this raging headache I've got," Lily Evans told her best friend, Dorcas Meadowes, and got up from her chair in the common room to head towards the infirmary.

Not one hundred yards from the Gryffindor entrance, the headache dissipated, and her head was as clear as a bell. She scowled, and headed back towards the common room.

Dorcas looked up from her transfiguration textbook, and said, "That was fast."

Lily shook her head in confusion, and sank into her seat. "It cleared up."

Dorcas frowned, and twirled her quill. "Maybe you should see Pomfrey anyway. That's been happening a lot these couple of days—these sudden headaches of yours."

"Maybe I will," Lily said, picking up her quill. "After finishing this transfiguration homework."

In the middle of working out the difference between transfiguring metals into plant matter, and plant matter into metals, Lily felt someone staring at her from behind. At first, she ignored it, thinking it was Potter being his usual annoying self, but then it got on her nerves. She turned around, and from across the common room, saw that it wasn't Potter, but Harris. Instantly, two competing impulses sprang up: one part of her was shouting in flaming thirty foot letters, while another part of her was telling her that there was nothing to notice.

Her head pounded. She rubbed her temples.

"Headache again?" said Dorcas. "Come on, let's go to the infirmary."

Lily shook her head. "It'll just clear up in five minutes."

"But it'll come back," she said, and before Lily could argue, Dorcas hoisted her up from the chair and pushed her towards the entrance.

Pomfrey listened to her symptoms, examined her, then nodded to herself. The mediwitch went away, before coming back with a vial of lime green potion. "Take this whenever you get a headache. That should get you through it, you poor thing."

Lily took the potion, and swirled the green liquid, causing it to ooze in a disgusting manner. She shuddered. "But what's causing my headaches? Will it go away any time soon?"

Madam Pomfrey avoided meeting her eyes. "I can't say."

"Please?"

Pomfrey hesitated, before saying, "It's not anything to do with your health. It's more…something in your environment—that's temporary. Now run off, the both of you, I'm swamped."

Lily glanced at the empty infirmary, before leaving. Out in the corridor, she said to Dorcas, "She knows something. But she won't tell me." She took another look at the potion, before grimacing and pocketing the vial. "I won't take some nasty thing if I don't have to."

"Pomfrey said that it had something to do with your environment," said Dorcas. "That means it's magical. Perhaps someone put a hex on you?"

Lily shook her head. "I think if it was something of the sort, Pomfrey would just tell me, or take it off of me. There's something strange going on. If only I knew what."

They got to the staircases, and saw Mott and Lucas, two fifth year Slytherins, dangling what looked like a first year over a staircase, laughing and jeering. Lily scowled, and whipped out her wand. "Put him down, now!"

Mott turned around, and said, "Don't mind if we do," and let go of the first year.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The first year floated up and landed on the staircase. Lily saw the red face of David Ackerby, a Gryffindor first year. He looked at her, and panted out, "Thanks, Evans."

But Lily shook her head. "That wasn't me."

"But I'm sure she would have got there a second later," said a familiar, hated voice behind her. Lily turned around, already knowing who she'd see. Potter was climbing the stairs behind her, smirking at her.

"Thanks, Potter," said Ackerby, beaming at him. "If you hadn't been there, I'd have been a goner."

"Of course," said Potter, then said, "You all right?"

Ackerby nodded. "Yeah. Just a little out of breath. But if you hadn't been there…" He shuddered and fell silent.

Lily glared at Mott and Lucas. "Do you know what you two almost did? How dangerous that was?"

Lucas shrugged. "Not really. That wasn't more than a little scare."

"He could have fallen—"

"We'd have caught him in time," said Mott. "We usually do."

"Ten points from Slytherin," hissed Lily, frustrated that she couldn't take away more points. "And detention. I'll be sure to tell Professor Adder about you two."

Mott and Lucas scowled, and looked as if they wanted to do something more, before looking from Lily to Dorcas to Potter. They nodded and left. Dorcas bent down and questioned Ackerby on what happened.

"So, Evans," said Potter from her left side. "I think I should get a reward for such a good deed," he said, and gave her a suggestive look. "How about going out with me to Hogsmeade?"

"That was a nice thing you did, Potter," she said, and Potter looked expectant, "So I'll just leave off the insults, and say no," and Potter deflated.

000000

After the hippogriff incident, Harry was called to Dumbledore's office. The headmaster looked uncharacteristically solemn. Harry knew it was serious when Dumbledore didn't offer him a lemon drop, and the ever present twinkle from his eyes was gone.

"I don't think I impressed upon you the importance of discretion, the last time we spoke," said Dumbledore, looking grim.

"I know I'm not supposed to change anything, tell anyone anything about the future, sir," said Harry.

"Yes, but you have to do more than that," said Dumbledore. "You must keep a low profile, and avoid drawing notice, like you did last Thursday in Care of Magical Creatures. While that sort of mischief may be acceptable in your own time in that it would merely result in disciplinary measures and a trip to the infirmary, in this time it draws needless attention that could have unseen, drastic repercussions on the timeline."

"I'll remember that the next time," said Harry, chastened. "I just didn't think it would be a big deal. Ha—er, the professor in my time let us ride hippogriffs when we studied them during my third year, and I didn't stop to think that Professor Kettleburn might not have, er, approved."

"I see," said Dumbledore, softening somewhat. "Harry, you still have to be careful. Even more careful this time, since I need to modulate the Unremarkable Spell I placed on you."

"What?" said Harry.

"I put too much force behind it, which has affected the other students. Mr. Lupin couldn't remember his detentions. The students you partnered with in your classes couldn't recall their lessons, and the professors didn't remember to grade your work. A Gryffindor student complained of headaches to Madam Pomfrey." Dumbledore opened a drawer, and pulled out a thick book. "I managed to procure this from the Unspeakables."

"What is it?" said Harry.

"Their case files of time travelers and their mishaps," said Dumbledore, pushing the tome towards him.

Harry checked the last page on the back; the book was more than a thousand pages, and the print was tiny. He didn't need to read them all, he knew some of them. Between the summer of their third and fourth years, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had camped out in the paddock outside the Burrow, built a fire, and told each other scary stories. Harry had told tales from what he remembered from watching the telly before the Dursleys noticed he was in the room, Ron had told the most elaborate grisly tales with plenty of blood and gore, and Hermione told stories about time travelers changing time in a low, fearful whisper.

"I understand," Harry said.

"Keep it for awhile. Read some of it," said Dumbledore. He folded his hands on top of the desk, and looked at him over the top of his spectacles, and his eyes gained a bit of a twinkle. "On other matters, I've looked into the spell you did. Your two friends should have been pulled into the same area of time as you."

Harry sat up straight in his seat, stomach twisting in anticipation. "You mean they're here?"

"Not now," said Dumbledore, with a shake of his head. "Since the three of you did not perform the spell with time travel in mind, you were all flung back in time inaccurately. I think you were the one who arrived first, temporally. The others may arrive later."

"Do you have any idea when?" said Harry, his heart in his throat.

"No. Perhaps this very minute, or next week, or perhaps even a year from now," said Dumbledore. "Hopefully it is not too far. I think we need to get all three of you together before we can think about sending you back."

Dumbledore launched into a lecture on the consequences of using the Interstitial Spell, but Harry hardly heard him, wondering if there might be a fourth person who might show up. The Interstitial spell was supposed to cut through space and time, and locate Sirius—if the man was alive. That was what had convinced Hermione and Ron to agree to attempt the spell. If Sirius, who had fallen through the Veil, was alive, then they wouldn't be meddling with life and death, but saving a man from being lost in the gap between space and time. Harry felt sick with hope.

00000

Harry made his way to the Common Room, in a thoughtful mood. He settled into a chair by the fire, with the book a heavy weight on his legs, and flipped to the table of contents. The section entitled, "Lost Existences," caught his eye, and he flipped to that one. Time was based on probabilities. It was impossible for a person to go too far into the past, for the farther back, the more unlikely the person was supposed to have been born. If a person traveled to a time before they were born, they flickered in and out of existence, subject to the probabilities of their being born, or not born. Harry read the last sentence about the flickering existence, puzzling out the meaning.

The slamming portrait jostled him out of his reading. Lily Evans, wearing a green dress and make-up, burst in, her wand in hand. Her eyes scanned the room, and located James Potter. "Potter, you git, I know it was you!"

"You wanted me, Evans?" James stood up from his seat on the sofa, where he'd been sitting next to Wormtail.

"Take the curse off of him," said Lily, leveling her wand at him.

"Don't know what you're talking about," said James, giving her a bland look.

"You're taking the curse off Gideon, if I have to Stun you, and drag you there myself," said Lily.

"I will if you go out with me," said James, ruffling his hair.

"After what you pulled, cursing my date—"

"He's a wanker. You can do better than that," said James.

"Get this through your thick head, Potter," said Lily in a scathing voice. "You're a great big, bullying git. I'd rather bathe in acid than spend one more second in your company. Now tell me how to take the curse off Gideon."

Over in his seat, Harry's face flushed so hard that his glasses began to fog up, and he squirmed in his chair, and wondered how he'd managed to get born in the first place.

James' face had flushed. "There isn't a counter-curse. That tosser will just have to suffer for a week."

Harry didn't know what happened next, because he flickered out of existence.


	4. The Future Comes Back to Haunt

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FUTURE COMES BACK TO HAUNT

He flickered back, to see a tall, brown-haired girl drag a shouting, red-faced Lily away from James. "Come on, Lily," said the girl. "Hexing him won't solve anything. Tell McGonagall. You've got a room full of witnesses that heard him admit it."

"Admit what?" said James, making a show of surprise. "That Prewett is a wanker? Yes, I freely admit I said that. Someone had to."

The girl glared at him, and Lily said, "Listen to me, Potter, that is if you can get this through your thick head. I would much rather go out with a Death Eater than you."

The room collectively gasped, making one loud sound.

James' eyes widened, and his mouth dropped. He looked as if he'd been Stunned. "What? You…I can't…Surely I'm…A Death Eater?"

Lily's green eyes glittered with venom. "And I'm a mudblood."

Harry jerked back, and the book on his lap slid to the floor with a resounding thump. Lily spun on her heel, and stalked towards the girls' stairs, with the brunette trailing her. James stood in the middle of the room, with the same stunned expression on his face.

Wormtail, and a first year boy went up to him. The first year boy got there first, looked at James with an earnest expression, and said, "She can't have meant that. I believe you when you said that you didn't curse Prewett. I mean, how could you? Did I ever thank you for saving my life from those Slytherins? Well, I know I did, but I'd like to thank you again. She'll figure out you didn't have anything to do with cursing the—"

James looked down, and seemed to pull himself together. He flashed a reckless smile, that seemed stiff around the edges. "Thanks, Ackerby. That's nice to hear." He looked around the Common Room, tousled his hair, making a show of shrugging. "Girls. Who understands them, anyway?"

Some of the boys in the room laughed, while some of the girls glared. Harry buried his face in his hands, feeling the heat of his flush. James and Wormtail went out of the Common Room. He could hear Ackerby, the first year, turn to a friend, and tell the tale of how James rescued him.

Harry felt his face grow cooler. His father must not be too bad if he saved a first year. He was just overly enthusiastic in his pursuit of his mother. No matter how many times Harry told himself this, the image of Lily's furious face and the tone of her scathing voice crowded his head. He wondered whether, if James were a stranger, and had acted that way around Hermione or Ginny, or any other girl he knew, he would have helped hold James down while they hexed him.

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On one of the most beautiful, sunny days left to autumn, before it became bitterly cold, most of the student population were out by the lake or at Hogsmeades. Except for four Gryffindor sixth years, who were in a cramped, dusty library. In the morning and afternoon, Sirius had applied himself to research with a dedication he normally reserved for pranking Snape, but now that it was early evening, he'd since drifted off, and had taken to working on the Prophet's crossword puzzle in between looking through books. Peter was slumped over the table, with a book hiding what would be his shut eyes. James's eyes had slid off the page, and he was now staring into space, twiddling with a quill. Remus was the only one who was still working.

Sirius balled up a piece of parchment, and James caught it well before it reached his head. James straightened up, and said, "What do we have so far?"

Peter made a sudden motion, causing the book in front of him to fall down. He sat up, blinking. Remus rummaged around the pile of parchment, and dug a piece out, and read off the list.

"Could be Snivellus," said Sirius. At Remus' skeptical look, he continued. "The greasy git's practically a Death Eater." James winced, but said nothing. Sirius scowled, and said, "He could be messing with your head for practice for later on."

"Not even Snape has the gall to do something like that to Kettleburn as well," said Remus.

"What? What?" said Peter, rubbing at his eyes.

"Remember, Wormtail?" said Remus in a patient voice. "I talked to Kettleburn, and he didn't even remember giving me detention, let alone the incident. He thought it was just a rumor going round in school. He even laughed."

"We might as well start a new list of suspects," said James, frowning into space, and ruffling the back of his head.

Remus took out a fresh piece of parchment, and dipped his quill in ink. "I still say it's not Snivellus."

"Put him down, anyway," said Sirius.

"Who else?" said James.

"I can't think of anyone who dislikes me enough to go so far as to hex a professor," said Remus. "The hippogriff wasn't that dangerous, or humiliating. This doesn't feel like revenge."

"Maybe someone wanted to get you to do something recklessly foolish?" said Peter, biting his nails.

Remus raised an eyebrow, and looked to James and Sirius. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Yes, Moony, I thought you needed to stop being a swot and have more fun, so I slipped something into your pumpkin juice," said Sirius, tilting his chair back.

"Then I'll put you down," said Remus in a dry tone, and a gleam in his eye.

While Remus was writing, James looked over his shoulder, and laughed. "That's accurate."

"What?" said Sirius, bringing his chair back down.

Remus held up the parchment, which read, 'World-Class Git.'

That deserved a parchment ball to his head. The research session dissolved into a four-way parchment ball fight until Madam Pince kicked them out of the library. They then raided the kitchens, then Sirius and James decided they wanted to prank any couples in the Astronomy Tower; well past midnight when they headed to bed. Crowding into their dorm, Sirius vaguely wondered when the bed in the corner had appeared. But no, that was Harris, the exchange student. He'd been there for a week, hadn't he?

Sirius fell into a deep, satisfying sleep. This week, he'd been feeling short on sleep, despite having gone to bed at a reasonable hour. He was having a dream about playing quidditch with all the bludgers being replaced by bunnies, when he heard his name. At first, he thought it was part of his dream, but then he kept hearing it. The dorm was silent, save for someone thrashing in their covers. He shut his eyes, when he heard it again.

"…not dead…get him…Sirius…"

He sat up in bed, and heard someone whimpering in pain. "Mum…Dad…he's here, he's killed… come and help me…you've got to help…Sirius…"

He slid out of bed, and followed the sound of someone moaning in their sleep. When he reached James' bed, he was surprised to find that the noise was coming from one bed further. He blinked at the new bed…Oh yes, Harris. He'd always thought that Sirius was a unique name, and that no other family was arrogant enough to name their children after celestial bodies. But perhaps Harris hadn't meant, "Sirius," but "serious".

"He hasn't gone! Sirius, come back!"

Sirius felt a chill of fear run down his spine. He hated feeling fearful. He strode over, and wrenched the bed curtains open, and started shaking Harris' shoulder. "Now look here, Harris, I know people have nightmares, but quiet down, will you? Harr—"

The boy thrashed into a sitting position, and seized his arm. "Sirius?" said a hoarse voice. "I knew it had to be a nightmare—no one believed me—I knew it couldn't be true—"

"What's going on? What's the racket?" James' voice. Light flared from the tip of his wand.

Sirius looked into a face that looked familiar, before his mind filled with a white, buzzing noise. A distant memory rose up, something falling on him, herbology…

"N-nothing. Just a nightmare," said Harris. He withdrew his hand from Sirius' arm.

"Well, keep it down," said James, covering his yawn.

"I've got some dreamless sleep potion in my trunk, if you want," said Peter from his bed.

Harris stiffened, and reached for his glasses and wand. "No. No thank you."

Remus drew back his curtains. "Sometimes it helps to talk about your nightmare."

"I, er…" Harris glanced at Sirius, a strange expression passing across his face, then scrambled to the other side of his bed. "I think I'll go sleep somewhere else."

"For Merlin's sake, just take Peter's potion," said James. "No need to go to that much trouble." But the boy was already out the door. James stretched, and glanced towards Sirius who was still sitting on the bed. "Since we're all up, we should see what else is. What do you say, Padfoot?"

"No. I think I'll go to bed," came Sirius' wooden reply.

Sirius got to his bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin, and stared at the darkened canopy. He hadn't been getting much sleep. Not surprising, if he'd been kept awake by someone shouting in the middle of the night. Except he didn't remember being woken up before. And for a moment, he'd looked at the new boy, and seen…someone else? Who? Sirius was almost sure that he didn't know a Harris family. He wasn't even sure if the Harris' were of wizard stock, sounded a bit like a Muggle name, or perhaps a half-breed…. Sirius fell into a troubled sleep.

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Harry wasn't cold, but he couldn't stop shaking. He'd heard Sirius' voice in the dark, and for one brief, beautiful moment he'd thought it had all been a nightmare, and that he was back in Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had come to wake him, and talk to him a bit. Except he had, hadn't he? Only, it was the wrong Sirius.

He paced the corridor outside of the Room of Requirement, and stepped through the door into a room with two twin beds, and a blank painting on the wall. He climbed into bed, and half-expected his Sirius to come through the door. He dozed off, thinking he'd get out of bed, and search for him. Yes, Sirius himself was unable to sleep, and he'd be in the kitchen, or in Buckbeak's room…

"We've got what we could," he said, and pointed a wand at a cowering couple. "_Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_"

The couple fell to the ground, lifeless. He turned away. "Get rid of them."

"Yes, My Lord," said a robed figure he hadn't noticed before.

"We take Innsmouth on the seventh. Yes, that will give us enough time," he said.

He laughed, cold and high, enjoying the backwash of the spell. His scar burned, and he woke to find himself sliding to the floor, clutching his head. He rolled onto his stomach, his legs falling off the bed still entangled from the blankets.

"Bloody hell," he said.

He'd forgotten to Occlude his mind before he slept, as had been his habit. He was still connected to Voldemort. Twenty years into the past, and the scar created five years in the future, and he still couldn't be rid of the bloody bastard. He pounded the floor with his fist.

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After breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry slipped out to confront Dumbledore in the corridors. "Professor, I need to talk to you."

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look, and nodded, leading him to the headmaster's office. He sat behind his desk, and folded his hands. "What is it, my boy?"

"First, I need your advice on whether I should be telling you this," said Harry, rubbing his forehead, then making himself stop.

"If it's about the future, then you shouldn't tell me," said Dumbledore, an emotion flickering in his blue eyes.

"It's about now. I found something out just last night, but I wouldn't have found out if something hadn't happened in the future that allowed me to find out now. I thought it would have disappeared in the past," said Harry.

Dumbledore blinked. "You shouldn't be here in this time. I would advise you not to tell me."

Harry nodded. "I suppose it's best, not altering the timeline. Voldemort might end up staying in power." He glanced at the clock, and started rising in his seat. "Thank you, Professor. I'd better go before I'm—"

"Voldemort?" said Dumbledore, leaning forward. "Is this information you'd just found out about Voldemort?"

Harry blinked, unsure why Dumbledore was asking the obvious, when he remembered this wasn't his Dumbledore. Twenty years hadn't done much to change the man. "Er, yes."

A great battle seemed to pass through Dumbledore's eyes. "You say that you found this out in the present? This is not something you knew before you got here?"

"No," he said, hovering in his seat, unsure whether to sit back down or stand up.

"I suppose…I would find out eventually," said Dumbledore, something uncertain but eager flickering across his eyes. "Sit down. I will write you a note for the class you will be missing."

Harry stayed in the headmaster's office, going over the details of his dream, remembering things that he didn't think he'd remembered. When they were done, Dumbledore wrote him a note to give to Professor Inchaunt.

He slipped into class right when the students were packing away their things. When Professor Inchaunt read the note, she frowned, then scanned the classroom. "Ms. Evans, could you come up here?" When Lily came over, the professor said, "You're one of my best students. That's why I wanted to ask you if you could arrange to let Mr. Harris copy your notes, and give him a minor demonstration of what we learned today. You don't have to, of course. I can ask someone else."

"No, that will be fine," said Lily. She turned to Harry. "How fast are you at eating?"

"Er, pretty fast," said Harry. He'd had to be, living with Dudley.

"Good," she said, nodding to herself. "Then if you like, we can meet in the Great Hall after we both finish our lunches, and then go to the library."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks," he said, drinking in the way she held herself, the expression on her face, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Well, see you, Harris," she said, and frowned as if her mind were already on something else. She turned away, rubbing her temples.

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Lily still had a headache, despite having taken Pomfrey's foul tasting potion. Her ears rang, and there was a dull roaring in her head, and her vision had gone grey. She felt she ought to be friendlier to the new boy, Harris, but she couldn't make the effort. She poked at her lunch, and snapped at Dorcas when she asked her what was wrong. Dorcas pointedly turned away, and spent lunch chatting with Helen.

"Evans, I was wonder—Erck!"

Lily had shoved her wand into Potter's solar plexus. "Sod off!"

Potter stepped back, rubbing his chest, protesting, "You didn't even know what I was asking."

"I won't go out with you," she said, thinking of how she'd spent weeks getting the courage to approach Prewett.

"Maybe you did know what I was going to ask," Potter said.

She deliberately turned her back on him, and glanced towards Harris. "You done?"

"Er, yeah, I am," he said. He stared at his hand on the table, wondering if it was a bit transparent.

"Come on," she said, grabbing her schoolbag, and tapping her foot while she waited for Harris.

At the library, she searched her bag, and got her notes out. Harris applied himself to copying her notes, so she could sit at the table, shut her eyes, and rub her temples. She sighed, and tried another dose of the potion, grimacing at the nasty taste.

"I'm done," said Harris, sliding the notes across the table.

She nodded, reaching to take her notes back, her hand half covering his, skin to skin—and her head exploded. She looked across from her, at Harris, he was the clearest thing in the dim library, bright as if he stood in sunshine, the warmth radiating from his skin seeped into her, into her blood and resounded with her magic.

Harris snatched his hand away, and stared at her with surprise.

She came back to herself. Her head was clear. She stared at Harris as if seeing him for the first time, and she was. "Who are you? What did you do?" Untidy black hair, thin face, lean build. "You…Potter, is this some sick joke?"

"I'm not…" He shook his head, then said in a firmer voice. "I'm not James Potter. My name really is Harry."

And his eyes, his eyes were a brilliant shade of green. They were the same shade as her father's eyes. "I believe you. On that account. But what did you do?"

"I'm not sure." He looked uncertain. "I didn't know that was going to happen." Something flickered on his face. "I don't know what that was."

"But you have a better idea than me," she said. She slipped her hand in her pocket, and gripped her wand.

He hesitated, then nodded. A look of pain crossed his face. "You cast a spell on me, a powerful one. A protection spell. I think it…reacted to you. I'd only felt something like this once before, in my first year, when it…activated."

"Tell me the truth!" She took out her wand. "I've never seen you before in my life."

His smile was bitter. "You wouldn't. I haven't been born yet."

"Explain," she demanded.

"I'm from the future," he said, meeting her gaze, and the expression in his eyes resembled her father's, forthright and direct.

She nodded, and pocketed her wand. "I suppose that explains your resemblance to Potter. I assume you're related to him."

"His son." Unknown to anyone, faster than the eye could register, he blinked out of existence.

"But not why being near you gave me headaches."

His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. "This is the first I've known of it."

Lily frowned, then shrugged. "I'll figure it out later." She relaxed. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're Potter's son. I suppose it must be kept secret. I never thought I'd get along with Potter enough to put a very powerful spell on his son." She stopped speaking, and looked at the evidence staring her in the face. With her eyes, no less. "No," she whispered. "NO."

"What?" The evidence blinked in bewilderment.

"Who's the mother?" she said in a frightened whisper.

"You are," he said in an apologetic tone.

"Me? And…Potter? JAMES Potter? With children. Together. No, there's no way that would ever—There's nothing on earth that would possess me to bear that arrogant, that toerag, that—Bleagh!" She ran from the table as if Death Eaters were after her.

Harry dropped his head onto the table, and groaned, wondering if things could get worse. The world faded out, before snapping back.

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Author's Notes:

I'd like to thank **BabeBunny, Misstoxic,** **Rubberducksrfun **and **Britni Puccio **for first encouraging me and asking me to update. :)

**Tinker1704**, I agree that time travel is nothing new, but I hope the way I tell it is new. Newish. :) Glad you like the Unremarkable Spell.


	5. Feet of Clay

CHAPTER FIVE

James approached Lily Evans during dinner at the Great Hall. He slid into the seat across from her, and before he could ask her if she'd heard about the quidditch match, she gave him a look of great fright, whimpered, and hurried from the table. James and Lily's friend, Dorcas Meadowes, gaped after her retreating form.

"That's a record even for you, Potter," Meadowes said.

"I didn't even say anything," said James.

Meadowes shrugged, her brow furrowed. "She hasn't been herself lately."

"Really?" He gave her a sharp look.

"I shouldn't even be talking about her with you," she said, tossing her brown hair over her shoulder, and turning towards Helen Wells.

James sighed, went back to his friends, and took his seat next to Sirius.

"That was fast," said Sirius, filling his plate.

"I thought girls were supposed to be flattered when you showed them a lot of attention," said James, drumming his fingers against the table.

"I suppose it depends on the girl," said Remus, spooning carrots onto his plate.

"There's lots of girls who would love to go out with The James Potter," said Peter encouragingly.

"Give it a rest. Try again later," said Sirius, eyeing his plate, before pushing it away. "Wonder if I can get another plate."

"What is it now, Padfoot?" said James, amused by Sirius' picky eating habits. "Did the colors clash?"

"The vegetables fell into my chicken. They won't have the right taste," said Sirius, grabbing Peter's empty plate just before he'd been about to ladle food on. "You don't mind, do you Wormtail?"

"No, not at all, Padfoot," said Peter, removing the carrots from the plate.

Several seats over, Harry made a choking noise. He was more shocked by the sight of Sirius Black, the man who inhaled any food put in front of him, refusing food for the flimsiest reasons, than he was by Lily running out of the hall. He watched as Sirius examined the meat on the end of his fork, before putting it in his mouth, and tried to find any traces of his Sirius.

00000

Over the next few days, Harry found himself blanking out and coming to later on. This was most notable when he was in class, and missing key phrases from a professor's lectures, or found the students getting up and forming groups without having heard what activity they were supposed to be doing. Those were only the most extreme cases; mostly he noticed his hands flickering almost as if he'd blinked.

Lily Evans spent her time avoiding any hint of James and Harry Potter, as if by denying their existence she could deny her future fate. This was harder done than said; one time, she'd caught sight of Harry sitting in the Common Room, and turned away and run straight into James and his friends coming down the corridor. Nevertheless, she did her best, and in the classes she shared with a Potter, she sat across the room as far away as she could possibly get, even sitting with her friends, if any, from other Houses. She even had to start dodging and avoiding Dorcas' questions on what was bothering her.

Even though James' time was preoccupied with gathering the ingredients for a memory recovery potion that would help Remus, he couldn't help noticing that Evans was acting strangely, jumping at shadows. Suspicions bred in the back of his mind, and he wondered if Remus' strange behavior in Care of Magical Creatures was related to Lily's new behavior. Perhaps a Death Eater in training, even worse than Snivellus, was practicing Dark Arts on people.

On James' way to class, he found himself eyeing any Slytherins in the corridor for any suspicious behavior. He felt eyes staring at the back of his head, he turned around to look while turning a corner, and slammed into something that made him stumble back into Sirius and Peter. He looked down, and saw a blond, plump fourth year Slytherin staring at him in shock. Ever changing ink was splattered across both of their robes.

"Watch it, Fortescue!" said James, scowling. Fortescue was a nasty piece of work; the boy incinerated insects in the most showy fashion, and could be found setting fire to all sorts of objects. James had heard tales of how Fortescue knew the exact temperature and five different spells to burn a human body.

"Sorry. It was an accident," said Fortescue. "I didn't mean to."

"That wouldn't surprise me," said Sirius, laughing. "He's a Slytherin—can't even walk in a straight line. They can only manage to slither about."

Peter started to inch forward, while Remus stepped back. Some people started hurrying away, while others stopped and stared. One person in particular, gaped at the scene unfolding before him, and tried to remember why Fortescue looked familiar.

"Here, I'll cl-clean it off," Fortescue said, muttering a spell that caused James' robes to turn a putrid shade of green. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen!"

"I think you did," James said, drawing his wand out.

Sirius drew his own wand out. "Perhaps he needs a little lesson on how to walk straight."

"Excellent idea, Padfoot," said James, hurling a Bat Bogey hex.

"_Protego!_"

The hex bounced off the shield, and dissipated.

"Leave him alone," said Harry, putting himself in front of Fortescue, facing down his father and godfather's wands. Harry, who had been watching the events unfold, was sure the fourth year was a younger Florean Fortescue, the same man who in the summer before Harry's third year, had given him free ice cream sundaes, helped him with his History of Magic homework, and drove off people who wanted to gawk at the Boy Who Lived. He hesitated to raise his wand. "He's done nothing to you."

"What do you call this?" said James, gesturing to his ruined robes. He glanced at the Gryffindor insignia on Harry's robes. "Get out of the way. I've got no quarrel with you."

Harry stared at Sirius, who looked cold and haughty, and couldn't find a trace of his godfather. He looked at James, his father, whom everyone from Dumbledore to Snape compared him to, and his stomach lurched with sickness. He looked to Lupin, waiting for him to step in and say something sensible that would defuse the situation, but the boy was inspecting a piece of armor like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"_Impedimenta!_" shouted Sirius, aiming his wand behind Harry at Fortescue. "Where do you think you're going? The fun hasn't even started yet."

"I can't believe you!" he shouted, his blood boiling, unable to see straight for the fury overtaking him. "You're supposed to be brave and good and noble—not some arrogant bullying gits—no better than Dudley, picking on Mr. Fortescue of all people, or hexing people just because you're bored—"

James shot off a warning curse inches away from Harry, and said, "Come on, already."

The next curse was aimed straight for Harry, and he barely avoided it.

The duel between the three was fierce. At first, Harry stuck to defensive spells only, and summoned a suit of armor in front of him, just in time for the breastplate to explode from a jinx. Harry ducked and dodged, a moving target, causing James and Sirius to grow ever more frustrated. The spells flew fast and furious, until a semi-permanent network of light connected the three boys that was only broken when Harry levitated the remains of the armor at the two boys, causing them to scatter and deflect.

Peter ducked a stray flying gauntlet, and moved closer to Remus who had given up all pretense of inattention. Peter said, watching the fight with avid eyes, "Harris duels like you."

Remus looked away from the fight. "What do you mean? I don't bounce all over the walls."

Peter shook his head. "Watch how he holds his wand. There. You see? Wrist up on the descant."

"What's a descant?" said Remus, unfamiliar with dueling terminology.

But Peter wasn't listening, gasping in delight when two spells collided in a shower of sparks. "A good many of his spells, he executes like you, precise and elegant. Others…he sort of flourishes them, puts an unexpected spin so they don't come out where you expect them. Rather like—"

"Is that all you've got?" shouted Sirius, laughing at Harry.

"_Canusmilita!_" shouted Harry, and a black phantom dog with burning coals for eyes erupted from his wand.

"That's my spell!" said Sirius, mouth gaping open.

"_Impedimenta!_" shouted James, but the phantom dog only sped up. "Padfoot, how—"

Sirius shook his head, then chanted the counter.

While the phantom dog was dissolving, Harry was aiming a Stunner at James, who dodged, and leveled a spell at Harry, who peddled backwards, only to trip on a dented helmet, and fall to the floor. He turned his fall into an undignified roll, feeling his ankle wrench and the ground grind his glasses to his face, but he was out of the path of a spell that hit where he'd been in a shower of orange sparks.

_"FINITE INCANTATUM!" _McGonagall's voice.

The crowd of watchers scattered, making way for McGonagall striding down the corridors in a state of fury, with Fortescue trailing at her heels.

"It was them that started it," said Fortescue, pointing at James and Sirius. "And Harvey, he was trying to defend me."

McGonagall surveyed the scorched walls of the corridor, the shredded tapestries, the shattered pieces of armor. Her face took on a furious expression, nostrils flaring, mouth a razor thin line. "Mr. Potter—"

James and Harry turned their faces to look at her. McGonagall stared at the boy on the ground, as the Unremarkable spell wavered, and she paled. She strode over to Harry and crouched in front of him, blocking the crowd's view of his face, and cast a spell on him. Harry felt his whole body shiver from the Unremarkable Spell.

"What part of discretion do you not understand?" said McGonagall in a low voice, the color rising in her face.

Harry shook his head, mute, and started to get to his feet, when he collapsed back on the ground, pain shooting up his ankle.

McGonagall examined his ankle. "_Mobilicorpus!_ I don't want you walking on that ankle, Mr. _Harris_," she said. She looked around her. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Fortescue, you will be in my office when I get back from taking Mr. Harris to the infirmary."

McGonagall floated Harry to the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, and told him his ankle would take the entire afternoon and part of the night to heal.

While Pomfrey was getting some potions for him to take, McGonagall turned to Harry. "Just how did you end up getting into a duel with your father?"

Harry flinched, not expecting the question. "How did you know about me?"

McGonagall sighed. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me."

"Oh," said Harry. He picked at the cover on the bed. "I suppose you do need to know about me, in case Dumbledore's called away. Being Deputy Headmistress and all. Er, you still are Deputy Headmistress in this time?"

"Yes, I am," she said, frowning at him over her spectacles. "Kindly stop avoiding the first question."

Harry knew that if he spoke, then he'd be getting his father and godfather into trouble. A surge of anger rushed through him, and he balled his hands into fists. Why shouldn't he get them into trouble? They deserved every bit of it, the way they had been behaving, and it wasn't the only time, he thought, remembering what he'd seen in Snape's pensieve. He had the urge to hit something, and stuffed his fists into his pockets to restrain himself, and he felt something smooth brush the back of his hand.

He opened one fist, and encountered the cracked mirror, the one Sirius gave to him in case he, Harry, ever needed him, and if he'd just opened the package, then Sirius wouldn't have had to come after him in the Ministry. His stomach twisted in misery.

McGonagall sighed. "Was it that bad?" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ten points to Gryffindor for defending Fortescue. Five points deducted for dueling in the halls."

Harry's head jerked up. "What?"

"Gryffindor will need them, by the time I'm done with Mr. Potter…Sr. and Mr. Black," she said. She frowned again. "Detention, as well. I can't have anyone dueling in the corridors. You will report to Filch, and help him in cleaning up the corridor you and the others wrecked."

McGonagall left, and Pomfrey came with a series of vile potions she made him swallow, and made his entire left side feel like it was on fire. He spent his time watching the autumn sunlight grow dimmer and dimmer, and fell into an ever more tangled ball of misery and confusion, which made him angrier. Pomfrey set a tray of food in front of him. He took vicious pleasure in stabbing his steak, but couldn't bring himself to eat a bite.

A fourteen-year old Florean Fortescue came by with Honeyduke's chocolate. "Er, I wanted to thank you for what you did, Harvey." He straightened up, a serious look on his chubby face. "I acknowledge the debt you have over me." At Harry's blank look, Fortescue said, "I guess you don't know, being a Gryffindor, we don't usually invoke the system for any House outside of Slytherin except for Ravenclaw, and they can be sneakier than Salazer—"

"You were saying about a debt?" prompted Harry.

"You helped me out, so that means you can call on me for help. I owe you a favor, a moderately sized one," said Fortescue. His face darkened. "Don't worry about vengeance. That will be taken care of."

"Er, all right," said Harry, not knowing what to say. "I didn't do it to get a favor, though. But that's appreciated."

Fortescue gave him a puzzled look, and said, "I've always wanted to ask, but never had a chance. How do Gryffindors function without the Equilibrium System?"

Harry spent an hour explaining that there was no such system of exchanging favors, debts, and gifts in Gryffindor, and learning about the Slytherin Equilibrium System. After the hour, Harry still wasn't sure if he was more knowledgeable than he was before, but Fortescue seemed to think Harry had grasped the basics of the system and told him, shaking his head with pity in his voice, that he'd never have made Slytherin. Harry had to bite his tongue.

Thirty minutes later, he was surprised to find that he had another visitor. Lily Evans. His future mother sat in a chair by the edge of his bed. Her eyes fixed on a distant point in the infirmary, without looking at him once, she said, "I'm sorry about your father."

All the good feeling Harry had got from Fortescue's visit abandoned him, and he was left in the same turmoil he'd originally been in. A tight knot of anger and misery settled in his stomach. "I sort of had an idea." He punched his pillow. "I just never knew it was that bad. You were right; he is an arrogant, insufferable git with a swollen head. And Sirius, Sirius was just as bad," Harry said. He said in a mocking voice, "I'm not proud of what I did." Bitterly, he said, "Hah! He was enjoying himself there."

"Potter and Black, they're nasty pieces of work," said Lily, meeting his gaze, and nodding vehemently, "fouler than Stinksap, wish they'd ingest some and suffer throes of agon—"

"You take that back! They're the—" Harry sputtered to a halt, surprised by his own outburst, by his anger at Lily's words, when just a moment ago he'd been saying similar things himself.

"We can't help who we're related to," she said, her expression softening, becoming sympathetic. She hesitated, then said, "If you need anything, just ask me." She started to rise from her seat. "And, er, please don't call me Mum. Or refer to me as your mum in any way, shape or form." She started to back away from him. "Just call me Lily."

She cast one look back at him, and reddened, before turning on her heel and practically running out. He sighed, and looked around the infirmary. He was too restless and upset to sit still. He flexed his ankle; it was a bit stiff, but didn't hurt. He stood up, then paced around the bed.

The walls felt like they were closing in, cutting off his air, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He wanted to hunt up James and Sirius, and scream and rage at them for behaving like Malfoy, and less like—he wasn't sure what.

He was striding down the corridors, trying to work off his fury, but he felt it bubbling away at him all the way outside the Hogwarts grounds. Twilight was falling fast, darkening the sky. Here was the Whomping Willow, and there the spot where Sirius had leapt out, grabbed Ron, and broken his leg.

"I wish I'd never set eyes on you!" Harry bellowed into the night.

The Whomping Willow's branches nearly hit him. He dodged, found a long stick, and poked at the knot. On impulse, he slid into the hole, his ankle wobbling under him for one terrifying moment, then he was making his way through the tunnel. Somewhere here, Sirius had asked him if he, Harry, wanted to live with him.

"He never made good on that," Harry muttered to himself in the dark, his eyes starting to burn. He thrust his hands into his pockets, and clutched the broken mirror.

The Shrieking Shack was cleaner and had a more used feel than it would twenty years later. Harry found a couple of empty potion vials next to the bed. Sirius and James had become animagi in order to help Lupin. He felt some of his anger drain away from him, leaving him to feel his misery acutely. And here, by the door, was where Sirius had first appeared to him, dirty and disheveled and raving, looking every part the mass murderer out to kill him. He felt his heart clench, and couldn't believe that he was getting sentimental over remembering Sirius scare three thirteen year olds.

He fled the Shack, and wandered the streets of Hogsmeade, which were empty. Strange. He'd never noticed that the Wizarding World closed earlier than the Muggle World, but then again, he'd only been out in Hogsmeade during weekends. In Diagon Alley, shops had stayed open later. True darkness fell, and he was still moving, hounded by his thoughts all the way to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

He scrambled up a steep incline, his bad ankle burning and protesting, fingers scrambling for purchase in the dark, and rounded a bend, his heart pounding.

"_Lumos!"_ The wand light showed a cave, empty of a hippogriff or Sirius.

But what had he expected? He remembered what Ron had once said, something about how Sirius must like him a lot to live in a cave and eat rats. He desperately wanted Sirius to appear, the real Sirius, gaunt and haunted from Azkaban, who thought a fight with a Dementor was better than being locked up, who always advised him to keep a cool head but who never followed his own advice, who always moved heaven and earth to be there when he, Harry, needed him.

He couldn't understand how the man he knew could be the same person as that spoiled, haughty boy who was likely useless in a crisis. But maybe that was just as well. The young Sirius would never chase after him should he, Harry, get into trouble, and that would keep him alive and whole and healthy. Until he was born, at any rate.

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**Britni Puccio- **I think there are plenty of Harry timetraveling to meet the Marauders fics out there. I have one or two on my favourite stories link, if you want to check some out.

**Babebunny**- Barring any unfortunate circumstances such as untimely computer crashes, acts of God, grandparent deaths, or writer's block, I hope to update on a weekly basis.

**Rubberduckysrfun**- LOL, yeah. It gets weirder.


	6. Pumpkin Juice Intoxication

CHAPTER SIX

To top off all the strange events of the day, James received two owl posts during dinner at the Great Hall. One was a long awaited package containing norvacal, one of the vital ingredients needed to make a memory recovery potion for Remus. The other was a letter from his mother, informing him that she'd been injured in the line of duty, but it wasn't anything serious, and she'd be using some of her sick leave to help teach a couple of Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, and she might see him soon.

"Who's the letter from?" said Sirius, craning his head to read over James' shoulder.

"My mum," said James. "She was injured."

Sirius' face darkened. "Is she all right?"

Remus swallowed the food he'd been chewing, and said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Peter said, "That's terrible. But she's all right, eh? How did she get injured? Was it in a fight with a Dark Wizard?"

James frowned at the letter, and shook his head. "She didn't say."

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Then it must not have been too serious."

James pushed away his worry, and shrugged. He cleared his throat. "We've got the last ingredient. I say we brew the potion tonight."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter exchanged looks. Finally, Peter said, "How about after dinner? We can sneak out to the Shrieking Shack."

"Good idea, Wormtail," said James.

James was distracted that night, and Potions was one of Remus' weaker subjects, so in the end Sirius and Peter took over the majority of the potion brewing. While the potion simmered, Sirius, Remus, and Peter left James to himself.

Sirius couldn't leave off the subject of the spell Harris used. "…that was my spell. I spent all summer researching it, then adjusting it to come out that color. All right, I admit he could have come across the same spell, but the original spell called for a smoke colored dog, sort of a misty white, not a black one."

Peter nodded along with agreement, while Remus' eyes remained glazed over. While Sirius continued his rant, Peter nudged Remus on the shoulder. Remus startled, then shrugged in a sheepish manner.

"You're absolutely right, Padfoot," said Peter. "But I think we should check on the potion now."

The potion was a pale, translucent blue, and smelled vaguely of mint and mist.

"Well," said Remus, while Peter measured out a goblet full for him, "at least it'll taste like mint."

"That would be the rosemary," said Peter, handing over the potion. "Though it might not taste as it smells."

The potion tasted like corrugated rust, and the bitter remnants of tea steeped too long. Sirius, Peter, and James watched Remus carefully. Remus' head fell back, eyes shut and moving behind his lids as if rapidly scanning a page.

"Well, Moony?" said Sirius, unable to take the suspense. "Have you remembered who hexed you, yet?"

Remus' head lolled towards Sirius' voice. He opened his eyes. "I now remember what really happened to Mr. Bobo, but not why I rode a hippogriff."

Sirius, Peter, and James exchanged glances.

Peter said, "Who's Mr. Bobo?"

"My pet puffskein when I was four," said Remus. "I'd witnessed him being attacked by a garden gnome, and my parents performed a memory charm to keep me from remembering." He shook his head. "I'd wondered why Mr. Bobo suddenly gained weight and had darker fur."

James lifted a ladle full of potion, and inspected it. "Are you sure this potion works right?"

Peter consulted the book they'd got the potion from. "Yes. Translucent color. Smells faintly of mint. Moony, did it taste like rust?"

Remus nodded and grimaced.

"It worked," Sirius growled, offended. "Moony remembered Mr. Bilbo, didn't he?"

"Then what went wrong?" said James. "Should we wait longer, or give him another dose?"

Remus paled. "I'd prefer if we wait."

A half hour passed. Remus took another dose of the potion, and recovered more memories of his early childhood, and claimed he now remembered his own birth. The four friends were stymied. They argued for a while over what went wrong, and what could possibly have happened before they grew tired, and decided to sneak back into Hogwarts.

When they got to Gryffindor Tower, they found Lily Evans sitting by a window. Evans sprang up from her seat, and stalked over to them, eyes scanning them. She stopped in front of James, one hand thrust into a pocket.

"Have you done anything to Harris—Harry?" she demanded.

"What?" said James, taken off guard.

"I heard about the fight earlier," she said, eyes tracking from James to Sirius to Remus to Peter. "I swear, if you've done anything—"

"What makes you think I did anything?" said James, too confused to be angry.

"Where is he?" said Evans, taking her wand out of her pocket.

James shook his head. "Who? Look, I don't know what's got your knickers in a twist, but you can't go blaming me for everything that goes wrong."

Evans gave James a hard stare. "He hasn't come back yet. Pomfrey said he'd be healed up enough to stay in Gryffindor."

"Why would we do anything to Harris? The poor bloke's already lost a fight to us," said Sirius.

"We didn't do anything," said James in a curt voice. "I don't appreciate how you immediately assumed the worst about me."

Evans crossed her arms, and glowered. "Well, you certainly haven't done anything to make me think otherwise."

Remus stepped forward, jostling Peter's elbow. "Look, we don't know where Harris is. So there's no need to go hurling unfounded accusations."

She shook her head, then her eyes narrowed, and she once again looked at the group of boys, sizing them up. "See that it stays that way."

"What's your business with Harris?" said James.

But Evans was already heading towards the girls' dorm.

"Why exactly do you fancy Evans, again?" said Sirius.

James shook his head. "I swear, she's usually not a nutter."

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Harry slumped into Gryffindor at the break of dawn, weary and ill at ease. After spending a good while stewing in his own thoughts in the cave, he'd walked back and snuck into the Hogwarts library in order to research what went wrong with the Interstitial Spell. At some point, he'd fallen asleep without Occluding his mind, and had restless dreams consisting of trying to catch snakes in a shaking room, while lightning flashed and air raid sirens boomed, and a group of strangers told him to work harder, and called him Tom. He'd woken up with his scar burning, a sense of aching loss and abandonment, and realized that he'd been sharing Voldemort's dreams.

He trudged up the stairs, decided he didn't have time to sleep in a bed, and got ready for the day. When he went back down the stairs, Lily Evans was in the Common Room pacing back and forth.

When she saw him, she strode towards him, and said, "Where were you? Did they do anything to you? You can tell me."

"What?" he said, confused.

"I didn't see you last night. You weren't at the infirmary, or here."

"I just…I had things to do," he said, then he added, feeling awkward, "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"I wasn't," she said, averting her eyes. "Come on. We should hurry, or else we'll miss breakfast."

The journey to the Great Hall was tense, with Lily darting looks at him from the corner of her eye, and Harry at a loss as to what to say. When they reached the lower levels of the castle, that was filled with more people, Lily pointed out who to avoid and watch out for, especially the more pureblood fanatics who harassed the muggleborn.

"Hang on, what do you mean?" said Harry, after Lily had pointed out several people.

Lily gave him a blank look. Across the corridor, someone said, "Mudblood," but Harry didn't see who, and no one in the crowd of students blinked an eye or turned around.

"How can they get away with hexing the muggleborn and saying things like that?" he said, recalling the hostility he'd encountered in his second year when everyone had thought he was the heir of Slytherin.

Lily blinked. "I suppose things really are different in the future," she said, her brisk mannerism dropping away. "Right now, there's a lot of hexing in the corridors against the muggleborn. So much, that you practically need a couple of protection charms just to get from class to class."

"But that's only people like Mal—like only a few pureblood families in Slytherin," he said.

Lily nodded. "That's why I pity the Muggleborn who had the misfortune to be sorted into Slytherin. They've got it a lot worse. Other houses, they've got their share of fanatical idiots, but Slytherin seems to have the nastiest ones."

Harry stared at her in astonishment. He'd never thought about Slytherin House as having any Muggleborn. He'd always assumed, not having given it much thought, that Slytherin was made up of purebloods. But hadn't Tom Riddle, a half-blood who was muggle-raised, been sorted into Slytherin? Harry rubbed his forehead, and shifted his schoolbag.

"I hadn't thought about it much, but the future must be really different," said Lily, startling him out of his thoughts. There was a soft, contemplative expression on her face. "So much that I take for granted, changing with time—Don't even think about it!" she shouted to a Ravenclaw boy, who made a rude gesture at her which she ignored in favor of turning to Harry. "If you could just tell me, just a little bit about the future, that things are better…that the war's ended…"

Harry ducked his head. "I can't tell you. I shouldn't have even told you about who I really am."

"I thought not," said Lily, looking away. She stopped outside the doors to the Great Hall to gave him a warm, considering look. "I suppose if the future is different, then you must be confused. Look, if there's anything you want to ask, about now," she made a face, "It's funny, thinking of the present as the past—anything you're confused about, just ask me."

"All right, thanks," said Harry.

They entered the Hall, and sat down at the Gryffindor table. During breakfast, Harry snuck looks at Lily, and once caught her giving him an uncertain look herself. They flushed at the same time, and stared at each other. The stalemate was broken when the owls flew in.

Grateful, Harry seized the topic. "I've been wondering…Lily," he said, trying out the name, "What are those owls with the black envelopes?"

Lily shifted in her seat. "They're from their parents. Or the Ministry," she said in a quiet voice. "Black envelopes are mourning stationary."

"Oh," said Harry, at a loss as to what to say. He counted at least twenty envelopes. He watched as a girl in Ravenclaw burst into tears when she saw one heading for her, then sagged with guilty relief, when the owl flew past her to the girl sitting beside her.

"The future must be better, if you don't know what they are," said Lily, watching him.

Harry thought of the articles in the Daily Prophet's new weekly column on Defense Against the Dark Arts, of the nightly dreams of Voldemort, of Sirius lost behind the Veil, of Cedric's death in the graveyard, and the D.A. meetings. He suppressed a pang of longing for Hermione and Ron. He wasn't sure what they could do to help, but he somehow felt things would be better if they were there with him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," she said.

"If I told you things--I really want to--you don't know how hard it is not to," he stammered out, glancing further up the table at Wormtail, who was currently slopping marmalade on his toast and robes, "I might change things for the worst. Make it so that I don't get born."

He almost told her, anyway.

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James and Sirius came up with the idea while serving detention. This came as no surprise, as they came up with their best pranks during detention, while their hands were busy and their minds were free to wander, and they had a co-conspirator a call away with the mirrors they carried. And as James said to convince Remus and Peter, they'd already done the research and it would be a waste if they didn't pull the prank.

Remus agreed on the condition that, "I suppose if it only lasts for fifteen minutes, there can't be any permanent harm to it." He smiled. "I'd love to see how the Slytherins react."

Peter, as always, was enthusiastic. "That's just brilliant, James! I bet it would also be easy to get away with. No one would be able to trace it back to us."

"I think they would," said Remus, frowning in thought. "If we were the only ones to remain unaffected."

Sirius gave a shrug of indifference. "So what if we get caught? It's well worth it."

"Do you think it's too like the prank we pulled in fourth year?" asked James.

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Two days later, during dinner at the Great Hall, the Marauders waited for the students to drink their pumpkin juice, avoiding the drink themselves. The prank was started at the Hufflepuff table, by the quidditch team who had just come in from a grueling practices session, and were quite thirsty. The team captain leapt onto the table and started belting out the Screaming Banshees' newest song, while the Keeper, a burly seventh year with a heavy brow, started singing along in a cracked voice. The Seeker and a Chaser started shouting that the Screaming Banshees was rubbish, and Illyria was a better band, and started belting out lyrics. Gideon Prewett leapt up and started doing Illyria's famous dance steps, and was soon joined by other students, even from other Houses.

James snorted. "I knew he was a pillock. A disemboweled cat can sing better than Illyria."

"I believe you're referring to the Screaming Banshees. They make my ears bleed," said Sirius, glaring at James.

Remus and Peter exchanged amused looks, but said nothing.

One Hufflepuff climbed onto his seat, and shouted out, "I'm gay! I'm sick of hiding it. I'm gay!"

Several Hufflepuffs shouted back, "Took you long enough, Stan!" while a first year Hufflepuff girl wailed, "Noo! You can't be! I love you!"

"Oh, look at the Ravenclaw table," said Remus, grinning from ear to ear. "Never knew they had it in them."

Peter, looking over, said, "I'm not surprised. It's always the quietest ones that surprise you."

The Ravenclaws were waging an epic food fight. One enterprising Ravenclaw started transfiguring the food, and they could see purple tentacles and green pustules being flung about.

Quirrell, the normally quiet sixth year, was the rowdiest, yodeling and flinging peas and carrots everywhere, and was the first to start throwing purple tentacles at the other tables. The younger Gryffindors started to retaliate.

James looked over to the Slytherin table, and sighed. "I knew it was too close to what we did in fourth year."

A Slytherin couple had fallen to the floor and was snogging madly at the feet of a girl who was sobbing on her friend's shoulder. Another group was dueling. Snape, to the Marauder's disappointment, seemed to be unaffected, and was pulling mysterious potions from the depths of his robe, and putting drops of them into the food. A good half of the Slytherins had caught on, and were eyeing the food warily, and were getting up and leaving the Great Hall.

Regulus Black made his way across the tables, got tripped by a turkey with spider legs, scrambled up, and stood in front of Sirius. Regulus' eyes were unfocused. "I've been wanting to say this for a while."

Sirius scowled, and got up from his seat. When James started to rise up from his, Sirius waved James down. "Yeah?" he said, scowling. "What do you want?"

Regulus said, "I just wanted you to know, Sirius, that even though you might not like us anymore, I still think of you as my brother."

The scowl melted from Sirius' face. "You mean it? I'm mostly mad at Mum and Dad, anyway."

Regulus nodded, and said, "I have faith in you. I know you'll come around. You'll see the error of your ways."

Sirius turned red, and he stepped away from Regulus. "I don't want the faith of a brainwashed idiot who believes everything Mummy and Daddy tells him."

"But it's common sense!" Regulus shook his head. "Mudbloods will be the downfall of our society."

James stood up from his seat, wand in hand. "How's this for family? Because you're Sirius' brother, I'll let you off. But the next time I hear you say _it_ I'll scrub your tongue right out of your mouth."

"Don't do me any favors, Prongs," said Sirius, glaring at Regulus. "I'm only related to him by an accident of birth."

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The pumpkin juice left a bittersweet aftertaste in his mouth, and a great buzzing fog filled Harry's head. He turned and saw Lily, his mum. "May I have a hug?" he heard himself saying to his own surprise.

Lily put down her goblet, and blinked at him. "No. I'm not your mother, I don't know how to be a mother. I'm sixteen years old. I don't even know what I'm going to do after I leave school."

"Maybe that's for the best. Not being my mother might save your life," said Harry, and felt something pelt the back of his head and run down his collar.

"You've got peas in your hair," said Lily, grinning.

"So do you," he said. "Mashed potatoes, too."

"Here, let me," she said, and started picking the peas out of his hair, then giggled, and ruffled his hair, mashing the peas in.

Harry stared at her, gaping.

Lily giggled again, and turned her goblet into a rat. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that." She propped her elbow in the middle of her plate, and gave him an assessing look. "Maybe I'll end up married to someone who looks extraordinarily like Potter, and end up lying to you about who your father is."

"Just as long as it isn't Snape, or something like that," said Harry.

Lily's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't think Snape looks all that much like Potter." She frowned in thought. "Except, well, they both have black hair, and they're both tallish, and on the thin side. Aside from that, not much else, except they take great pleasure in the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, but that's all. Come to think of it, they're both purebloods, too. Oh, one more thing, I'd rather not spend any more time than I have to with either one of them."

Harry looked over to the Slytherin table, where Snape seemed to be threatening to brain Professor Ochem with the pumpkin juice pitcher, so vehement were his arms waving about, while he shouted something at the teacher.

Harry groaned. "With the way things are going, Snape will end up being my father."

"All right, I've had enough of this," said Lily, smacking her hands on the table, moving aside when a first year grabbed her plate and threw it like a Frisbee at the Ravenclaws. "You have no father. In fact, you were born out of an egg, or out of a thigh, or something like that."

"I'm beginning to think that would be better," he said. "Not having to worry about whether you could live up to your parents, whether they'd love you, or be proud of you. I don't much care what a bird or a thigh thinks of me."

"That's the spirit," said Lily. "I wish I was born from a bird. They can't order you about, especially on things they don't understand, or force you to clean your room. My room's not messy, it's just organized in a creative way."

"Well," said Harry, working this out. "If we're both descended from poultry, what does that make us?"

"If it was the same one, then related in some way," said Lily. "I suppose I can manage to hug a long lost relative," she said, and gave him one, and held on, despite the way her blood burned in her veins and her skin crackled with power.

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"Mongrels would be a better set of parents than them," said Sirius, so worked up, he never noticed when a flying plate nearly clipped his head. "I'd rather be raised by werewolves."

"No, you don't," said Remus, putting up a shield in time to block a flying, headless turkey.

"Well, maybe not werewolves, but wolves, great rabid ones, raising me in the wild. At least then, I'd be sure to get plenty of fresh air," said Sirius. "Or even Muggles, yeah, they'd be better. I'd almost rather be a, a Squib than related to them."

"Well, bad luck for you, Padfoot," said James in a half-mocking tone. "You'll just have to settle for a bunch of blood traitors."

Sirius sputtered to a halt, not even flinching when something wet and slimy hit him in the back. He said hoarsely, "James…"

"I'm certain it was all a mix up at birth, and you're actually the result of a three-legged mutt and a lamp post," continued James, in the same tone.

"Hah! Better than being the spawn of a rail and a flobberworm," said Sirius, too busy laughing to get fully out of the way of James' tackle.

Peter stared at the two boys wrestling on the food laden floor. "They did remember that the pumpkin juice was fixed, right, Moony?"

Remus sighed. "They don't need anything. They come by their insanity naturally."

Two shouts of indignation came from the floor; Sirius and James scrambled to their feet and drew their wands out.

"Those are fighting words, Moony," said James.

"I'll have you know we're as sane as…help me out here, Prongs," said Sirius. "Prongs?"

James was looking down Gryffindor table, a dark look on his face. "Who's the bloke Evans is hugging?"

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Author's Notes:

**Britni Puccio**—Thanks. I figured it was logical, Remus was: the only competent DADA teacher, giving Harry private lessons, and bound to be giving him some kind of tips whenever he was in Grimmauld Place.

**Leontine-456**—Snape will be around, and he will have a bigger role a couple of chapters in, but I won't be focusing on him much. Thanks for the feedback.


	7. James' Plan

CHAPTER SEVEN

James was in a foul mood, despite the relative success of the pumpkin juice prank. Peter had managed to convince McGonagall that the Slytherins were the ones who were behind the prank, pointing out that half the Slytherins had been unaffected, while clearly, James and Sirius had suffered from a hefty dose.

"All right," said James to Sirius in the common room. "So she fancies him. I don't understand why. So what if he's…" James sputtered to a halt, unable to think of what Harris had over him. So he continued, "I bet he's…" He stopped again, unable to think of what Harris did worse than him.

Sirius continued nodding along, making vaguely encouraging noises, and scrutinizing his parchment, quite unaware that James had stopped talking. Remus and Peter had long since abandoned James, with the excuse that they wanted to turn in early. At nine o'clock at night.

Undeterred, James continued. "I bet Evans is—well, I don't know, but she doesn't seem herself lately. Padfoot, have you noticed anything?"

"You'll get her eventually, Prongs," said Sirius, not looking up from his writing.

James peeked at Sirius' scroll, assuming that his best friend was planning a prank. When he saw what Sirius was doing, he was offended. "You'd rather do Herbology homework than listen to me? Herbology? You could at least have the decency to be ignoring me for Transfiguration—at least that's interesting."

"It's due tomorrow," said Sirius.

"That's no excuse!" said James, glaring, even as he dug in his bag for his own Herbology work, and tossed the scroll at him.

Sirius seized the scroll. "Thanks, Prongs. Now if you'd given this to me in the first place, I'd have done a better job of pretending to listen to your whingeing."

"I do not—I am not—I'm off to bed," said James, leaping to his feet and stalking to the dorms.

Remus and Peter were on Peter's bed, having a fine time playing the Marauder's version of Exploding Snap, making their way through what looked like half their weight in sweets. James glared at them, and pointedly went to bed, closing the curtains after him.

He spent most of the time tossing and turning, working out the problem for himself. None of his friends could help him. Sirius had never chased after a girl; often it was the other way around. Remus would say something sensible, like how Evans just didn't fancy him and that was that. He couldn't imagine what Peter would say. He felt desperate enough to write to his parents for advice.

In the morning, James bounded out of bed, and hummed through his morning routine. His friends eyed him with suspicion, and gave him a wide birth. During breakfast in the Great Hall, Sirius finally demanded, "Out with it. What are you up to?"

"Nothing," said James. "Please pass the toast."

"You've got that, 'I'm James Potter and I've got the world's greatest prank up my sleeve,' look on you," said Sirius, then continued in a bad approximation of James' voice, "And I'm too much of a smug, selfish bastard to tell my friends."

"S'not a prank you'd be interested in," said James, slopping a generous amount of marmalade on his toast.

"Try me," said Sirius.

"All right," said James. "I say this without any sense of conceitedness-I am one of Hogwarts' best pranksters. I've managed to prank Snape—slippery, dangerous bastard that he is—on multiple occasions. But the secret to succeeding was figuring out what I did wrong, and not doing it again, then figuring out what I did right and trying to duplicate the results. Now I know the target—Evans. I know what I want to achieve—to get her to go out with me. What I don't know is what it takes to succeed. But if I study Harris, whom she fancies, and figure out how he succeeded in pranking her, er, getting her to like him, then duplicate that—no, prove that I can do one better than him, then I've got her."

"You're off your rocker," said Sirius.

"In my opinion, pranks and getting a girl to go out with you are two entirely different things," said Remus. "You might consider going about this in a different way."

"…that's….unique. I would have gone with a box of Honeydukes' finest chocolates, maybe with a nice card," said Peter. "Did I mention your approach is unique?"

000000

"So have you done it yet? Have you pranked, er, won over Evans?" said Peter in Potions, dropping into the seat next to James.

"What are you on about?" said James blankly.

Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and said in a hasty voice, "Never mind. I'm sure she'll say yes. Eventually."

"No, tell me what you're talking about," said James.

Before Peter had the chance, Professor Ochem launched into a lecture on the properties of the Asper Potion, and warned to take careful notes, as the potion was deadly. During the latter portion of the class, while they were making the potion, Peter whispered James' master plan to get Lily.

James interrupted Peter to say, "Were we supposed to stir this clockwise or counter-clockwise?"

Profesor Ochem, who had been going past their table, said, "Counter, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor," said James.

"You even made a little diagram," said Peter, after Professor Ochem went to supervise a Ravenclaw that was having trouble.

"What diagram?" he said. James brooded for the entire class period, and was silent on his and Peter's walk towards their next class.

In Transfiguration, James greeted Sirius and Remus, then turned out his bag, but couldn't find the diagram that Peter spoke of. He packed everything back in, except for a scroll and a quill, and pretended to take notes. He faced forward towards the professor, and searched his pockets. He found the Map, and a scrap of parchment stained with marmalade. There was a diagram, a neat row of boxes and columns labeled with such things as: Appearance, Quidditch Skills, Duelling Skills, Romantic Stuff, Intelligence, Humor, Other Stuff Girls Like. Each category was marked average.

Dimly, James could remember watching Evans and Harris, and filling in the diagram. But it had slipped his mind, rather like how he knew that he'd cleaned his teeth and washed his face in the morning, but he couldn't recall the specific event. James ran his hand through his hair and sighed; if Evans fancied average, dull boys, then in his not-so-conceited opinion, he had his work cut out for him.

"…question, Mr. Potter?" said McGonagall sharply, giving him a glare that made James suspect that she knew he hadn't been paying attention.

"Of course, Professor," he said, glancing at the writing on the board, trying to figure out what the question had been, when a voice said, from another part of the room, "Er, ah, hang on, I really was paying attention…first cast Finite Incantatum?"

James jerked his head around, and saw Harris, sitting two rows ahead, next to Evans. McGonagall glared at Harris, lips pursed into a thin line, "Mr. _Harris_, I asked Mr. Potter," she indicated James, "the question."

"Sorry, Professor," said Harris, sinking into his seat.

"In future, remember not to speak out of turn. Mr. _Harris_," said McGonagall. Her lips, while still a rigid line, somehow lost some of its severity. "Nevertheless, the answer is correct."

McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, and continued writing. James drummed his fingers on the table, and stared at Harris. Evans, who was sitting beside Harris, leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Harris nodded. James looked down at his little diagram, looked up at Harris, then back down at the parchment. Something didn't add up. His fingers drummed even faster.

On the bottom of the parchment, he wrote, 'Something's off about Harris.' Drum, drum. He continued, 'McGonagall upset.' Drum, drum. 'No one is that average.' Drum, drum. 'Dark Arts spell?' He looked up at Harris, then at Evans next to him, calmly taking notes, and his eyes widened in alarm. She'd been spending a lot of time with Harris, and she was also acting quite unlike herself. His fingers drummed furiously. He wrote, shakily, 'Manipulating L.E.?'

Sirius nudged his foot, breaking him out of the train of his thoughts, then eyed his fingers significantly. James rolled his eyes, but stopped drumming his fingers. Remus and Peter turned around, and gave Sirius relieved smiles. James scowled, but subsided.

He glanced at McGonagall, who was eyeing their area with great suspicion, and endeavored to look as if he'd been paying attention. He fastened his eyes to the board, and worked out what the lecture was about. By that time, class had ended, and McGonagall handed back their essays.

When James started to unroll his scroll to see what marks he'd made, McGonagall came over to him, face flushed. "I'm quite sorry, Mr. Potter," she said in a brisk voice, snatching the scroll out of his hands. "I accidentally gave you the wrong essay." She handed him another scroll. "This is your work."

"That's all right, Professor," said James, confused at McGonagall's abrupt manner.

McGonagall walked back to her desk where, James noticed, Evans and Harris were standing. McGonagall stopped in front of the boy, and handed him the scroll, and said, "Make sure to put the correct name on your essay, Mr. _Harris_." She glanced at Evans, and for a moment her stern expression slipped into puzzlement. She shook her head, then said, "Miss Evans, please excuse us. I would like to have a talk with Mr. Harris in private."

Evans nodded, and turned to Harris. "I'll be waiting outside, Harry."

"Thanks, Lily," said Harris.

James started to pack up his things, when he came across the parchment with a diagram, and some writing on the bottom. He started shoving his things into his bag without a care.

"Ready, Prongs?" said Sirius, standing with Peter and Remus.

"Go on without me," said James, without looking at his friends, watching as Evans walked out the door.

"Good luck, Prongs," said Remus, giving him a warm smile.

"All right, then," said Sirius.

"We'll save you a seat in the common room," said Peter, then rubbed his stomach. "Wonder what we're having for dinner?"

Evans was outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall, with her bag at her feet. He stared at her, at a loss as to what to say. All he had were a bunch of scribblings on a bit of parchment. He wasn't even sure about his sanity, so how could he expect to convince her?

"There's no need to send them away," said Evans, crossing her arms, and nodding at the retreating backs of his friends. "I don't want to have anything to do with you. My answer is still no."

"I wasn't going to ask you out," said James, ruffling his hair. "Really," he said, then added to salvage a bit of his pride, "There are plenty of other girls in this school, girls who'd love to go with me."

For some reason, Evans ducked her head into the classroom, as if checking to see if something was still there. "There is always that possibility. There are other girls with green eyes, and he could be mistaken."

James didn't know what to make of her comment. "That's not the point. Right now I don't care if you spend all your time with that pillock Prewett, or the giant squid, just don't spend it with Harris."

Evans blinked at him. She opened her mouth, as if prepared to say something, then shut it. She blinked at him again, then said in a cool voice, "Why shouldn't I spend my time with him?"

"Well, do you know where he's from?" said James, proceeding carefully.

"Well, no."

"How about who his friends are, or who he associates with. Do you know that?"

"No."

"Do you know his views on the War?"

"I assume they're the same as mine, or yours."

"You assume—he could be a Death Eater!"

"I doubt that."

"He could be from a Dark family," said James. "You don't know—his parents could end up being You-Know-Who's most loyal followers—"

"Well, I do know who his parents are," she said, interrupting him.

"And?" James demanded.

"His mother, well, if she really is his mother, is all right, and his father is an arrogant sod I wouldn't put anything past," said Evans, eyes glinting at what seemed to be a private joke.

"See, what I mean?" said James, gesturing towards the classroom door. "Who knows what sort of things he's learned from his father? The best way to enjoy a spot of torture? How to be the best sadistic bastard who gets his jollies off other people's pain?"

Evans burst into laughter. At that moment, Harris came through the doorway, and stood looking between Evans and James. "What's going on?"

James took a step towards Harris, drawing his wand out. "Look you, I don't care what your father's taught you, but if you so much as try anything, you'll have me to deal with."

Harris gaped at him, while Evans doubled over in her laughing fit.

Harris said, "What are you talking about?"

Evans gripped Harris' sleeve, and for a brief moment, James was hyper-aware of the both of them, as if they were standing in strong sunlight while the rest of the corridor was cast in the dim shadows of the late afternoon. Evans told Harris what was going on, in a loud, giggling whisper.

Harris looked as lost as James felt.

Evans stopped gasping for breath, and straightened up. Her cheek twitched as if suppressing a smile, and her eyes glittered, as she addressed James. "He's not his father."

"You don't know that for sure," said James.

"Everyone does keep comparing me to my father," said Harris, expression shifting through a quick succession of indecipherable emotions.

James glared at Harris. "You see? Even he admits it. Who knows what he picked up—what filthy, conniving things he's done—what sort of trouble his father encouraged him to get into—"

Evans pressed her hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking, before the laughter seemed to burst out of her. She doubled over, laughing so hard it looked painful. James and Harris gaped at her. She sank to the floor, shuddering and half-gasping and half-choking, as she struggled to laugh and breathe at the same time.

Harris took out his wand and cast a Sobering charm on her.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, still giggling quietly to herself, before she glimpsed Harris' expression; the mirth melted off her. "I meant it. You're not him." She flashed a wry smile. "Besides, you were hatched, remember?"

Harris groaned, looking from James' half-wrathful and half-bewildered expression, to Evans' peculiar facial contortions as she attempted to suppress her laughter, and said, "As if my life weren't strange enough."

"So it's not very nice." She cast her eyes down. "But you've got to admit, it is pretty funny," said Evans, starting to giggle again.

"Maybe," said Harris, then seemed to catch Evans' mood, and fought down a smile.

James, looking between the two, at their identical half guilty and half amused expressions, had the feeling that they were sharing a private joke. At his expense.

"Fine," he said, desperately attempting a bored, unconcerned tone. "Be it on your own head then. I don't care if you snog him to your own doom."

His statement was met by identical stares of incomprehension.

Harris roused himself from his stupor, and then said, "She would never—that's just—how dare you!"

James and Evans stared at Harris, trying to figure out what was behind the vehemence of his reply. Then Evans' eyes widened in realization, and her face flushed.

"You think…" said Evans, clenching her fists, and looking at James as if he'd just called her the M-word. She glared at him, and shouted, "I'd give myself up to the Death Eaters first, before I'd ever do something so monstrous!"

James, who felt like he was missing some vital part of the conversation, said, "What?"

Evans' anger collapsed, and her eyes widened in horror, as if a horrible thought occurred to her. Trembling, she turned to Harris, and said in a shaking voice, "Er…I don't, do I?"

Harris gaped at her for a moment, before he shook himself. "NO!" he bellowed. "You would never! NO!"

Evans sagged against the wall. "Oh," she said faintly. "That…that's a relief."

Harris shuddered, and glanced at James out of the corner of his eye with great circumspection, as if what James had said was indicative of a diseased mind, and he didn't want to set James off. "I think I'm going to head up to Gryffindor. I need a shower."

Evans straightened up, and grabbed her bag, and eyed James as well. "Good idea."

They eyed him and sidled around him, before breaking into a brisk walk that was nearly a run.

James was left standing in the middle of the corridor, which was thankfully empty, as classes had ended for the day, and the only thing here were a bunch of classrooms.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" said James to the universe at large.

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Author's Notes:

To anyone who's reading this, I apologize for the lateness. My internet is possessed, and keeps kicking me off every two minutes. This is being posted on an outside computer. Then I had some trouble with this chapter, where it dragged and ran on too long without getting anywhere, so I had to cut half of it, and start over.

To anyone willing to give advice, does the pacing seem off? Is it too slow, or is rushed?


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